"I'm going to explain the trail to the nearest settlement; see here." So I began to scribble out a map showing the lie of the Cañons, the route to where we had left the boats, the signs to guide him beyond. "When you see this big butte towering high on the right——" I looked up, and found he was not listening, for he pointed his ears to the messroom where McCalmont talked.
"Yo're due to understand," the Captain was saying, "that this yere Ryan made a letter which he sent to his wife. He showed me the letter, and it was sure fine scholarship, telling her plain and clear how to scare up his ransom at once, how to deliver the same, and not make crooked plays to get us trapped. Mrs. Ryan she got the letter all right, but then some low-lived swab stole it away from her, and sold it to the N' York Megaphone."
Ryan let out a sudden cry.
"That's what's the matter," says McCalmont, "and all the private part of the letter got into print; whar Ryan confesses how he acted foul to pore young Jim du Chesnay. He confesses to perjury and bribing witnesses, an' sech-like acts of rotten treachery, which the general public havin' entrusted millions of money to this Ryan to hold and invest the same, ain't pleased when they larns his private manners and customs, or how his manhood proves itself up when tested. The public thinks it's been too trustful in confiding big wealth to a felon who is due to be gaoled for his sins and gathered into the penitentiary."
"Escape," says I to Ryan, "or you ain't got five minutes to live."
"Escape!" says he—"to penitentiary! Oh, Kathleen, Kathleen!" He covered his face with his hands, while McCalmont went on—
"So you see, boys, that the public closes down on this Ryan, and grabs theyr money, and jumps from under sudden, stampeding before the crash. This pore swab we got in the kitchen, which he cayn't even cook, ain't a millionaire any mo', but a bankrupt, due to get five years' grief for his acts, which is plumb felonious."
It seemed as if all the robbers were stunned with the news, for they made no move or sound. Only poor Ryan groaned, and I felt sick, because I knew it was too late for him even to run.
"Boys," says McCalmont, "this news is bad medicine for we-all, 'cause we done attracted too much attention, we made ourselves plenty conspicuous, and the United States has awoke to a smell of robbers. The nation has got a move on at last, and it's coming up again on us on every side to put our fires out. Ten of our men has deserted, and likewise the Pieface animal, so there'll be plenty guides to lead the attack on this place. I reckon our trails are blocked, our water-holes are held, our time is pretty near expired in this world. I tharfore propose that we divide up what plunder we got in store—the same being considerable—and all share alike, and after that we scatter as best we can. Those of us who win out of this trap is due to live, and those who don't will get a sure good fight."
I heard a voice call out, "Who brung this news?"